Four deaths and a reunion
by hobgoblin123
Summary: Exactly what the title says. No sex and only very faint hints at slash. Warning: major character death (twice).


**Four deaths and a reunion**

Disclaimer: I don't own the Coldfire Trilogy, and no profit whatsoever is intended.

A/N 1: The fandom is dead. Long live the fandom ;-)! On a more serious note, I was shocked to realize that nobody has posted a new fic here for ages. Dear Shadowy Star, where are you? Morgana, didn't you write something about having an idea for another one of your marvellous stories? As for myself, the only thing I can give as an excuse is that the last year or so was pretty much a living nightmare. But here I am, still loving the Coldfire Trilogy and ready to get on your nerves with my measly efforts once again, lol.

A/N 2: I'm well aware that the 'five times they did this and one time they did that' trope and its variations has been done to the death in a multitude of fandoms already, but please indulge me.

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When Gerald Tarrant died for the first time, he was alone, only surrounded by the slowly cooling corpses of his wife and his two younger children. His transformation into something utterly alien to the mortal plane had hurt, had hurt so much that his screams had been reverberating from the indifferent stone walls for what felt like hours and death finally came as a relief. His chest stirred by no breath of life any longer, he rose to his feet in a single motion so very inhuman in its fluidity and grace that an eventual observer would have turned tail and run for his life. The demands of his unlife granted him a fleeting second to contemplate what he had done in order to achieve his aim, but he could feel no remorse. The forces of the dark and their hold over him cut him off from suchlike human sensibilities like a barrier wrought from the same ice his once mortal body seemed to have turned into. Then there was nothing but hunger.

The second time he died, he was in the company of a man he had come to admire beyond anything he had thought possible at the somewhat rocky beginning of their acquaintance. Damien Kilcannon Vryce was stubborn, foul-mouthed and didn't have a clue how to bring out his ruggedly good looks, but this shortcomings set aside, he was also the most caring, loyal and courageous friend someone could wish for, however much both of them might negate any emotional attachment between them. A part of him wished he could have spared Vryce witnessing his death, but to be honest, there was no denying that he was infinitely grateful for the man's comforting presence. "Come share it with me, demon," he lured the creature threatening to enslave mankind into a deadly union, flaunting the depths of his own corruption to make the bait even more attractive. But even screaming in agony when the fae burned through him with a force even an adept couldn't master, his gaze never left Damien's stricken face. The sight of the tears shining in those beautiful hazel eyes accompanied him into the darkness.

The third time Gerald 'died', it was only a technicality, if a rather annoying one. In order to save his recently reclaimed mortal existence, he had to sacrifice everything else. His title, his looks, his name, his very identity - everything was stripped away from him. Only the core of his personality remained untouched. Sometimes, in the deep of night when the world was silent and he woke up from just another nightmare, his heart hammering and the metallic taste of blood still hot on his tongue, he couldn't help but wishing that it were otherwise. Not that he wasn't thankful for small mercies. Coming out of his final transformation dump as a stump certainly wouldn't have been to his liking. But fact was that now, with no compact shielding him from human emotions anymore, the burden of his memories weighed heavily on him at times. He still couldn't honestly regret the choices he had made so many years ago. What he had done to his family was unforgivable, but their deaths had bought him time, had allowed him to see that the labours of his early mortal days had born fruit and there was indeed a God on Erna, even if He had rejected His fallen prophet. And, last but not least, it had allowed him to meet Vryce. He missed the man, missed him so much that he was sorely tempted to renew their acquaintance and to hell with the consequences, but it couldn't be.

Gerald didn't bodily die when he felt the link break nigh to forty years later, but his fallible human heart shattered into a myriad little pieces, just like the test tube he crushed in his trembling fist without ever realizing. Shaken to the core, he stared at the mess of sharp shards and blood covering his right palm, hurting too much deep down inside to register the pain of the cuts. The terrible emptiness where the warm glow of Vryce's presence used to be palpable, brightening every single day of his new life even in the man's absence, left no doubt about it that Damien had finally met his fate. Of course his former brother-in-arms hadn't known about the continuing existence of their unique channel. Gerald had seen to that, for very private reasons. But he had followed Vryce's life from afar, had heard about his marriage and painful divorce a few years later, disgusted with himself over the small spark of satisfaction he felt at the latter news. At least Damien's professional life had been more successful than his private one. From a simple healer, he had quickly advanced to ward physician and then, after a few years, to head physician of Jaggonath's most prestigious hospital, adored by his subjects and patients alike. In this regard, he had lived a fulfilling life. It was to be hoped that the man who had sacrificed so much for the common good had found a measure of happiness in it, but suspecting that Vryce had never stopped yearning for something he couldn't have, the adept doubted it, doubted it very much. In any case, it was too late now. For both of them. No, Gerald didn't die. He wasn't meant for succumbing to heartbreak. But a part of his soul, the better part Vryce had raised from the ashes of a thousand years of corruption beyond mortal reckoning, followed the only man save Gannon he had ever called _friend_ to whatever afterlife waiting for him.

Dying for the fourth and final time, Gerald was frightened out of his wits, and it took all his resolve not to stray from the narrow and winding road to redemption. It was hard, maybe the hardest thing he'd ever done, but he wouldn't sully the memory of Vryce by making the same mistake twice. If such a thing was at all possible in the new world they'd helped creating, that is. All at once, his vision narrowed into a tunnel that seemed to lead straight to eternity. The light shining at its end was so very warm and welcoming, pulling at him with nigh to irresistible force, but he didn't dare to give in to its lure. He had tried to atone for his sins over the last decades, had found a vaccine against a particularly nasty strain of flu claiming hundreds of lives each year, reinvented some of the wondrous technology of their forefathers from Earth and donated a fair amount of his wealth to various charities. That should count for something, shouldn't it? But, as he had told the warrior knight in an age now slowly passing from living memory, hell would never be out of the picture for him, and so he was understandably a bit dubious about the proceedings. But then a well-known figure stepped out of the light, beckoning him closer with outstretched arms, a blissful smile on his handsome face, and he relaxed with a low sigh. Vryce had never betrayed him. He had trusted the priest with his life on more than one occasion, and he would damn well trust him with his death. Smiling, Gerald exhaled his last breath and set out on his biggest adventure, the journey home.


End file.
